


Beginning Anew

by xtwilightzx (blackidyll)



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Post-Series, but it's a beginning to something real, not quite a fairy tale ending, resolving guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/xtwilightzx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any other woman would pace frantically, or wring her hands, or tug at her hair to release some nervous energy, but Rue was ever in control, even if her eyes betrayed her. “And I want you to love me, but before I can let you, you have to do something else first.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning Anew

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for an exchange, in which the requester noted that Mytho/Rue was an iffy pairing for her because of everything that happened in the series - their relationship was never resolved, especially since both of them came out of rather abusive situations (Mytho from his heartless state; Rue from the confrontation with her past/the Raven). I realized later that in my own request post, I also noted that I wanted to see Rue resolving her psychological guilt. Hence, this fic.

There was a part of Mytho that thought he and Rue would have their happy ending when they took off in their swan-drawn carriage. He had always been a character in a story, after all, trapped in a state of limbo outside of time and emotion. Mytho let the swans fly where they willed - they were projections of his magic and would bring them to no harm – and besides, he didn’t have any real location in mind.   
  
His story had ended, but theirs had just begun.   
  
Instead, Mytho focused on the slim hand in his, familiar from the hundreds of times he and Rue had partnered together back in Kinkan, but foreign at the same time. Rue’s hand was warm, something he never quite registered before, and her fingers clung back at his hand just a little too tightly.   
  
Rue was quiet, and Mytho left the silence unbroken. The last few days must feel like a whirlwind to her, and Mytho wondered if she would be all right with wherever they were going to, so far away from the academy they were both familiar with.   
  
Perhaps it was this train of thought that prompted the swans to set them down in a clearing in the midst of woods.   
  
“Where are we?” Rue asked, glancing around.   
  
“Where we need to be,” Mytho replied, and held his hand out to help Rue off. He trusted his magic not to lead him astray, and when the train of Rue’s gown swished off the carriage, the entire contraption disappeared in a burst of gold light, the swans alighting in a flurry of white feathers. The gold sparks surrounded them and when they faded, both Mytho and Rue wore common traveler’s garb and cloaks.   
  
A flash of uncertainty crossed Rue’s face, but she gamely tucked her cloak closer and took a few tentative steps to acclimate herself to her steady, calf-high boots, then tilted her head at the tingling sound of singing and music.   
  
They followed the music to its source, and even Mytho was surprised by the varicoloured caravans and the diversity of people that bustled around the camp, some fixing meals around a central bonfire, some running back and forth transporting goods, others carousing in one corner. Overlaying all these were the sweet sounds of violins and accordions and other instruments.   
  
“It’s a traveling dance troupe,” Rue said, and Mytho followed her gaze to a cleared area, sanded and laid with wooden panels, where several persons wearing leotards went through stretches. Most wore toe shoes.   
  
“Yes,” Mytho said, and smiled, glad that this was where his magic had brought them. He held a hand out to Rue. “Shall we?”   
  
Rue gazed at his hand for a moment, then nodded. She slipped her hand into his, and they moved forward, together. 

 

*

  
When the master of the troupe assigned both of them to the common dancer’s positions in the group, Mytho thought Rue would protest. They were newcomers, of course, and could hardly expect to be accorded that honored position without raising an uproar from the rest of the group, but Rue was born to be a prima ballerina – when she danced, even the simplest plie was beautiful.   
  
“Rue?” he asked when they were alone late that night, after the introductions and the hearty welcome the entire camp gave them. “Rue. You are a better dancer than at least half of them.”   
  
Rue stopped in the middle of running a brush through her hair. She set the brush down carefully, a motion that looked forced, considering how tightly she clutched at it.   
  
“The last dance I danced was in despair. I need to move beyond that, and that starts with the basics.” Rue looked up and raised one hand to touch Mytho’s cheek lightly. “You’ll have to work too, my prince. You haven’t danced properly in a while, not with…” She glanced away.   
  
Mytho knew what she left unsaid.   
  
Rue drew a breath and smiled. “We both need to build ourselves back to the standard level. And before we reach that, we will dance alone.”   
  
And with those words, he couldn’t suggest anything otherwise. 

 

*

  
Rue loved the dance, and it showed in her every action. She was one of the earliest to rise, almost always the first to the makeshift dance stage, and she spent hours upon hours on the basic moves before easing into abarasque, then moving into jumps and pirouettes. It soon became clear to almost everyone that Rue was an exceptional ballerina, but she made no move to practice any of the solo dances. Instead, as she had said on the first night, Rue stayed with the basics, her expressions schooled, balanced perfectly on her scarlet toe shoes.   
  
Mytho mirrored her practices, working hard at the ballet moves he seldom performed after the raven’s curse over took him and feeling the various emotions Tutu had returned to him as he moved and interacted with the other troupe members.   
  
He always watched Rue, when he wasn’t dancing himself.   
  
Mytho had managed to coax her into a pas de deux, once. She was spinning in a pirouette and Mytho had moved beside her, touching her waist and taking her hand, and they had flowed naturally into the rest of the dance before Rue quite noticed he was there. The entire troupe was there and Rue’s training as a prima ballerina would not allow her to stop a pas de deux for anything short of serious injury.   
  
So they danced, and Rue’s every move was technically perfect to everyone watching, but Mytho could feel the difference. There was the slightest hesitance in that turn, the tiniest off-step, little, little details that felt jarring to a dance partner as familiar with Rue and her dance as Mytho was.   
  
It was at the end of the dance, when Rue finally raised her eyes to meet Mytho’s gaze, that he realized that Rue was aware of all those discrepancies in her dance. 

 

*

  
Mytho and Rue were almost always together when they weren’t dancing, but there were times where Rue was not by his side and Mytho had no idea where she was.   
  
He came across Rue by accident during one of those times, back near the clearing where they had first arrived in the swan-drawn carriage. She held a basket, half-filled with berries – part of their duties, as troupe members, to gather what food they could – but it dangled forgotten from Rue’s hand.   
  
A magpie stared down at her from its perch on a nearby branch, and Rue stared back unblinkingly.  
  
Mytho moved beside Rue, edging forward protectively, and took the basket from her limp fingers. “Rue.”   
  
“Magpies and ravens are cousins,” Rue said.   
  
“But they are not the same,” Mytho replied swiftly. The magpie twitter-cawed, and Rue glanced away, as if determined not to understand anything it said.   
  
“Ahiru is a duck. She had so much, as a girl, but she’s a duck once more.” Rue looked up and locked eyes with the magpie. “Sometimes, I wonder if I should be the one to become a raven.”   
  
Mytho didn’t realize that he was clenching one fist until he felt his nails digging into his palm. “Ahiru chose to give me back my last emotion.”  
  
“Will she be happy?”   
  
“Fakir has promised to always be by her side.” Mytho reached for Rue’s hand. “Rue, don’t leave.”   
  
Rue turned completely towards him, her long eyelashes sweeping over those scarlet eyes. Her fingers curled around his. “I won’t. I promised to be your princess, didn’t I? I won’t leave, Mytho.”   
  
Mytho nodded. He aimed a look at the magpie and said, in a low voice, “Go.”   
  
The magpie took off in a flutter of black feathers.   
  


*

  
The weeks swept by, and their lives with it. Rue smiled more often now and both she and Mytho moved through the ranks of dancers, although Rue still avoided any mention of being the prima ballerina. Since Mytho would take no official partner other than Rue, they often lead the group dances instead.   
  
As mid-summer approached, the troupe began preparations to begin their run on the road. The entire camp lit up in a flurry of activity, drawing Rue and Mytho along with it. That night, after their final dance practice, they stayed close to Cook, who moved in her own systematic way preparing for the night’s dinner.   
  
“It’s the same every year. You’d think they’d learn how to do it efficiently once, and just do the same thing the next year, but no,” Cook grumbled, adding more vegetables to the stew Rue carefully stirred.   
  
“Food supplies, travel schedules, coordinating with towns we’re performing at – that’s but a few of the things the troupe master must consider. It must be hectic, ” Mytho said by the woodpile, where he arranged the firewood he had gathered.   
  
“And living arrangements,” Cook muttered, adding salt and pepper to the stew mix. “You two should speak to the master soon.”   
  
Rue caught his gaze over the fire, puzzled. “About what?” Mytho asked.   
  
“Dancers are grouped in pairs or small groups. You’d want to be together.” Cook said kindly. “The two of you are lovers, aren’t you?”  
  
Mytho placed a piece of firewood down. “Yes,” he said, and Rue’s eyes widened.  
  
Cook chattered on for a while after that and Rue continued stirring the stew, but her eyes were faraway. The stew had only just finished cooking when Rue returned the stirring spoon to Cook with a murmured, “here, Cook. Please excuse me,” before standing up and walking off into the woods.   
  
Mytho waited two moments before abandoning the woodpile and following her.   
  
He didn’t have to walk far to find her – Rue was back in the clearing they had first arrived in, staring up into the night sky, her unbound hair swaying in the wind. Mytho stopped a few paces away from her.   
  
“What Cook said bothered you,” he said quietly, and Rue turned.   
  
“No. It’s your reply,” she said, and Mytho hadn’t forgotten what anguish felt like, but it felt freshly new in his chest, a sharp pain, as if Tutu had newly returned it to him. He swallowed the hurt and waited, because there was a look on Rue’s face, determined, and just a little scared.   
  
“’I want to love you too, Rue.’ That’s what you said, when we left Kinkan.” Rue raised her head and gazed at Mytho.   
  
“Yes.” Mytho remembered.   
  
Any other woman would pace frantically, or wring her hands, or tug at her hair to release some nervous energy, but Rue was ever in control, even if her eyes betrayed her. “And I want you to love me, but before I can let you, you have to do something else first.”   
  
She stopped for a long moment and Mytho wanted to run to her, to sweep her up in his embrace because she was his princess and nothing should ever hurt her. But Rue gave the tiniest shake of her head, and Mytho stood his ground.   
  
Somewhere beyond the thin veil of trees and foliage, Mytho could hear the cheerful banter as the other troupe members bustled around.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Rue said. “I’m sorry, Mytho, for every selfish, hurtful,  _stupid_  act I’ve done. Can you forgive me?”   
  
Rue’s voice was low but strong, not a waver in her voice. She never took her eyes off Mytho, but at the end of the question, she glanced downwards and squeezed her eyes shut because that was Rue, who acted strong but was still painfully fragile inside.   
  
Mytho almost ran to her now, almost kissed her, but something stopped him and it was bewildering. He was a rational man, but he had lived within and between a fairytale for so long that it clouded his perceptions at times, and he drew back just slightly to think.   
  
He knew Rue – knew the many expressions she possessed, knew of her as a child, as a talented budding dancer and then as a prima donna, knew the shadows and darkness that clung to her past. He knew what she was capable of as Kraehe and why she refused to use her raven’s power, but Mytho suddenly realized that it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know the many things that could make her smile, or which color was her favorite, and whether the guilt she felt over Ahiru had ever lessen. He knew she loved ballet like it was part of her soul, but not if she enjoyed music, or artwork, or storytelling with anything beyond a cursory interest.   
  
Mytho knew many things about Rue – all the large, often dark secrets, but the little details were important too.   
  
He wanted to tell her that he had never faulted her, but he knew that was not what she needed to hear.   
  
So all he did was say, “I can. And I do. I forgive you, Rue.”   
  
Rue’s eyes flashed open and she raised her head to meet Mytho’s gaze. Mytho gave her a small smile and raised his arms in the traditional request for a dance, holding his hand out to her and never looking away.   
  
Mytho couldn’t read the emotions that flickered through Rue’s eyes, but he recognized the acceptance of a challenge when Rue placed her hand in his and moved in the beginnings of a pas de deux.   
  
He gripped Rue’s hand a little tighter than was necessary and boosted her into a high jump, and felt joy blossom through his chest when he saw the smile – small, but genuine – that crossed Rue’s face when he caught her on the way down.   
  
Perhaps he didn’t know enough about Rue. Perhaps Rue still needed more before she could forgive herself. But they had ballet and they had each other and they could learn, and they would both grow.   
  
Mytho thought that perhaps he already did love Rue.


End file.
